He hadn’t even cut the engine before I was jumping out of the vehicle and making a mad dash to the back of the Suburban to get my bag. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough and Weston’s hand shot out and caught mine as I attempted to open the back hatch.
“What are you doing?”
“Quiet!”
I was already pissed, but at Weston’s rude demand, I went straight to seeing-red-pissed, the kind of mad that made your blood boil and all rational thoughts flee. Therefore, I also went straight to bitch.
“Don’t tell me to be quiet. I’m going home.”
Weston stopped dragging me toward the house, bent and planted his shoulder to my stomach and hefted me up.
That was familiar. It was also infuriating.
“Put me down, Weston!” I screeched and struggled against his hold. “I’m fucking serious.”
Weston didn’t answer verbally, he didn’t need to, not when his big hand came down on my ass with a thud and shocked me into silence.
The door slammed behind us and Weston continued stomping through the living room toward the stairs.
A raucous peal of laughter came from the couch and Chasin glanced over at us and mumbled. “It’s like déjà vu.”
“Screw off,” I returned.
The shock of Weston’s slap on my ass now thankfully wearing off, I doubled my efforts and was met with a steel band around my back pressing my belly into his shoulder as he held me in place.
“You’re seriously an asshole, Weston. I cannot believe you’re doing this.”
Silence.
“I’m really, really, fucking mad at you.”
His bedroom door opened, then it slammed, then I was on my feet face-to-face with a really, really, pissed off Weston.
That was precisely the moment I should’ve checked my attitude and caught on to the feel of the room. But stupidly I didn’t.
I was Silver Coyle, stupid, stubborn, and thoughtless.
“You’re not the only one, sweetheart,” he snarled.
“But I am the only one with a sore ass.”
Weston’s head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowing. But I didn’t stop to take that in either.
“We’re done,” I announced.
“We’re far from done.”
“We so are, Weston, you hit me.” It was safe to say, Weston’s eyes were now burning but I ignored that, too. “I’m not even stupid enough to be with a man who puts his hands on me in anger.”
“Did I hurt you, Silver?” Not even Weston’s voice vibrating with anger pulled me from my snit.
I’d set the course and I was fully prepared to follow through. Though it was safe to say, I wasn’t sure what the course was or why I was willing to follow it. My insides were burning, warning me I was pushing too far about something that meant nothing. And it meant nothing because currently I couldn’t even remember why I was mad in the first place. I just knew I was and I was stubborn.
“Yes,” I blurted out even though it was a partial lie. He didn’t hurt me as much as he’d stunned me.
Weston’s body jerked like I’d landed a physical blow. “You’re a piece of work. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You get pissed, and all reasonable, coherent thoughts fly from your head. Straight up, I smacked your ass with the intention of making you stop wiggling before you successfully made me drop you resulting in you hurting yourself. I got your attention, you stopped thrashing. So you cannot stand here in front of me, with a straight fucking face and tell me I hit you in anger with the intention of hurting you. And if you try to, you’re a goddamned liar and you know it.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Second thing,” Weston spoke over me. “In the car, when you suggested we stop talking, I should’ve listened. I should’ve remembered that when you get something twisted in your head, there’s no untwisting it while you’re pissed. I was wrong then and I was wrong when we got home. I should’ve let you leave.”
At that, I flinched and my stomach dropped. I’d pushed too far, I didn’t listen to that voice inside my head that told me to calm down and think about what I was saying before I just let words I didn’t mean fly out of my mouth and now I was going to pay a hefty price.
I knew it.
I could feel it.
“I didn’t want you to leave pissed. I wanted to talk it out and explain what I was thinking about your apartment. But you’re all fired up to leave. You’re pissed. I’m tired as fuck-all. So there’s the door, Silver. Use it.”
And with that, Weston went into the bathroom and calmly shut the door behind him.
It was that calm that worried me. He didn’t stomp, he casually walked across the room. He didn’t slam the door like he had the other two, he simply shut it quietly.
Shit.
Why did I push?
I felt like the world had dropped out from under my feet and I was at a loss. I’d been angry and prepared to battle it out. I wasn’t, however, prepared for Weston to give up and walk away.
I started the conversation in the car because I didn’t want to go back to my apartment alone but something ugly had bubbled to the surface when he told me what we were going to do. The hell of it was, it was what I wanted. I wanted to stay with him. I wanted the help cleaning out my old apartment. And I wanted help finding a new one. I hadn’t even talked to him about not wanting to stay in the place where I now felt scared to be in and felt violated. But even so, he wasn’t going to allow me to go at it alone.
What was wrong with me?
I’d gone too far telling him he was taking over my life. And I’d gone way too far accusing him of hitting me and hurting me. When even in my altered state of over-the-top crazy I’d known damn good and well he’d never hurt me.
Talk about getting myself in a pickle I had no idea how to get myself out of.
Somehow I didn’t think admitting I was wrong was gonna cut it this time. I thought I seriously fucked up. No, scratch that, I knew I did. If I hadn’t felt it deep in my soul, Weston telling me to use the door would’ve sealed it. But I did feel it and it felt like shit.
The door opened and Weston’s angry gaze came to mine. I’d hadn’t realized I’d stood there rooted in the exact spot he’d left me in long enough for him to take a shower and come out with a towel wrapped around his waist. But I did know I had to try to make this right before I left.
“I’m sorry—”
“Not now.”
“Please. I need—”
“I see you’ve calmed down, but we’re not at the part where you apologize, I apologize, and then we move on. But honestly, Silver, I’m not just tired. I’m just plain tired of saying I’m sorry.” Good night, that hurt. “Only for the same shit to happen. And I’m not talking weeks or even days later, I’m talking hours. So honest to God, I don’t want an apology and I’m not offering one up until you’re ready to give me more.”
“Give you more?”
“What made you flip in the car?”
“Flip?”
“Flip from sweet and playful to sarcastic and nasty? What did I say that had you so pissed, made you turn so fuckin’ fast I could hardly keep up?”
I didn’t have an answer to his question so I remained silent, trying to think of why I’d over-reacted the way I had.
“Right,” he mumbled, and moved across the room to his dresser.
The towel dropped, but I was so lost in my head trying to pinpoint exactly why I’d gone from joking with Weston to shoring up my defenses to protect myself, I didn’t even enjoy the sight of his nakedness. I vaguely saw him pulling on a pair of shorts but I was frozen. Why had I felt the need to protect myself—from Weston?
Why would I fight with him about him giving me what I wanted?
What the hell was so screwed up in my head I’d pick a fight about nothing?
“I was protecting myself,” I blurted out what was turning over in my head. “I don’t know why. I didn’t want to go home. I never want to go back to that place again. I don’
t think you’re taking over my life. But in that moment, it felt that way. I don’t know why I felt it or why I said it, I only know I was feeling it.”
“I’m not Dale.”
“I know you’re not.”
“No, baby. I. Am. Not. Dale. I’m not him. I’m not taking over your life, taking away your choices. I don’t want to be in charge of you. What I want is to make sure you’re not alone in a place where you feel unsafe. The easiest way for me to do that is to make sure you’re not there when everything is cleaned out. After that, whether you decide to live there or not isn’t up to me. What is up to me is making sure the woman I love is not bustin’ her ass filling it full of new furniture and doing that shit alone. So, if you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you get over it or let's hash it out now. Because what we will not be doing is fightin’ about it when I move your new shit up those steep-ass stairs.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?” Weston snapped and I didn’t blame him.
I’d done that, I’d made him wary. I’d taught him that when it came to moving furniture, paying for flowers, or bourbon, or anything really, I’d make it into a fight.
“I won’t argue about you moving furniture.”
Now it was his turn to stare at me in silence and I knew I owed him more so I gave it.
“I also won’t argue about you and the guys cleaning out my apartment. You’re right, I don’t feel safe there. And before I freaked out in the car I was going to ask you if you’d help me find a new apartment because I’m not ever staying there again. Logically, I know you’re not my dad. I know you’re not selfish and self-centered. I know I don’t need to protect myself against you. But I can’t help it. It’s habit. It’s so ingrained to fight against any sort of dominance or control I can’t stop it.”
My insides still burned with humiliation and guilt. I’d hurt him again. I needed to do the right thing and walk away. I was too screwed up. It wasn’t fair to him that I kept putting us through this. I wasn’t treasure, I was toxic. Weston was a good man, he deserved better than me. So much better than the shit I kept piling up.
I was so dumb to think I could change. What was inside of me wasn’t ugly shit my parents had let in, it was simply just me. I was cut from the same cloth as Dale and Silvia. I was their daughter and had inherited the worst from each of them. And my parents’ selfishness mixed together was grotesque and vicious.
“Don’t ever walk away from me when you’re mad and especially when we’re in the middle of talking about something important—no matter how heated that talk gets. And that is not me being bossy or controlling. That’s me telling you exactly what I need in this relationship. I need to know you’re willing to stand and fight for it. Not cower from what you’re feeling.”
I felt my eyes start to drift closed. I should’ve felt some sort of relief he was talking about the future but I didn’t. My heart and my head were at war. A battle so devastating I didn’t think I’d survive.
“I think—”
“I know what you’re thinking, Silver, and you’re wrong.” My spine snapped straight but I held my tongue, remembering this was Weston and I’d inflicted enough pain. But before I could remind him he was not a mind reader, therefore he had no way of knowing what I was thinking, he proved me wrong. “I know you’re planning your retreat. You’ve twisted an argument into the end of us. You’re standing across the room from me thinking that you’re not good enough. Thinking that I’m some pussy who would give up something I know is right, know is mine, because I’m so fucking stupid I don’t understand what two assholes left inside of you. Further, you’re thinking that because I told you to use the door, I was giving up. Which you’re gonna warp into me being one more person who abandoned you.”
He knew it all. Everything that had been swimming in my head. I should’ve been scared out of my mind how he’d figured me out down to the very last smallest detail, but I wasn’t.
Finally, someone saw me.
Finally, someone cared enough to see me.
Finally, I wasn’t walking through life invisible.
But that still didn’t negate that fact I’d hurt him again. As a matter of fact, it made it worse—way worse.
His hands on my shoulders made me open my eyes and the second I did I wished I’d kept them closed. Brown, soft eyes full of so much care and love it hurt to see, hurt to feel as his adoration washed over me, warming my insides.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered.
“We’ve—”
“I don’t, Weston. I know I don’t. I’m so sorry I keep screwing up. I know I have to do better. I know I hurt you. But I can’t let you go.”
I stood nervous with my heart jack-hammering in my chest. His hand moved from my shoulder, slid up, curled around the back of my neck, and he brought my forehead to his lips before he tucked me under his chin.
“It’s a good thing you’re not letting me go because I wasn’t gonna let you.”
“Wes—”
“Let’s get into bed, baby. I’m wiped.”
“But—” My throat tingled and my body shivered.
“Bed, Silver. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
Two minutes later, Weston had me in his tee, cuddled to his side. Five minutes after that Weston was asleep—I was not. An hour later I was still staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how I was going to get rid of all the ugly shit my parents left me. Then I realized, it wasn’t ugly, it was hideous and more than that, it was dangerous. If I didn’t find a way to let go, I’d lose everything.
29
A week later, Weston found himself standing in Silver’s bedroom shifting through the papers that were strewn about. The rest of the guys were in her living room and kitchen. He did this with his blood boiling, his gut churning, and his heart heavy. Everything Silver owned lay tattered.
He stacked the papers, probably shit she’d kept in her now demolished nightstand, when his fingers grazed a glossy four-by-six. Weston turned the picture over and his breath caught.
Silver stood smiling flanked by Dale and a woman Weston assumed was Silvia. The fact that Silver was a spitting image of the beautiful woman meant it really wasn’t an assumption. Much like her daughter, Silvia had long, shiny brown hair, the same natural light streaks, same hazel eyes. But unlike Silver’s bright beautiful eyes, Silvia’s were dull. Even smiling, the woman looked unhappy. Lifeless.
Silver looked beautiful.
Weston hated the picture.
“How was your day?” Weston asked, lying on his bed holding his phone to his ear.
“Boring. It’s fall, so it’s not slow, but it’s not summer,” Silver answered. “How was your day?”
“Finished cleaning out your apartment. Packed up what was salvageable—mostly clothes and some papers we found. Loaded the boxes in the back of the Suburban and brought them back to the farm for you to sort through later. We tossed the rest and the dumpster we rented was hauled.”
He heard Silver suck in a breath.
The day had been shit. Damn, the last week had been hell with Silver back to work and on a two-week rotation, meaning he only got scraps. Mostly at night when she bedded down and had a few minutes to call him.
He knew it was going to suck, he knew he was going to miss her sleeping next to him, seeing her every day, but he hadn’t known it was going to feel like a knife to his gut.
“Thanks for doing that,” she whispered and her soft voice relayed just how much she meant those words.
“Not a problem, babe.”
“Seven more days until I’m home.” That whisper didn’t fill him with the warmth of her gratitude—it slammed into his chest, her calling his house home, and made his cock jerk thinking about her once again sharing his space and his bed. “You’re still sure you’re okay with me staying with you until I find an apartment?”
That was something they’d discussed before she’d left for work—her staying at the farmhouse with him, instead of a hotel. An
d miraculously it hadn’t turned into a fight when Weston had suggested—bossily because he knew no other way—that she not bother with a hotel because she’d never actually see the inside of the room she rented.
When the topic had come up, Weston braced for the argument but it never came. He watched as her back had strung tight and she opened her mouth, but before she unleashed her attitude, Silver had clamped her mouth shut. He’d given her the time she needed to work through whatever was going on in her head. After a few questions, mainly ascertaining Chasin would be okay with her staying, and Nixon, being the owner of the house, wouldn’t mind, she agreed.
“Lookin’ forward to you comin’ home,” Weston said instead of covering ground they’d gone over.
“Me, too. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“Can’t lie, Silver, it sucks. But I suspect we’ll get used to the routine.”
“I guess you’re right.” Silver paused and went back to whispering. “I miss sleeping next to you, honey.”
Her admission didn’t make his cock jerk, it made it throb. It’d been seven days since he had her and it’d be seven more before he’d have her under him. Seven very long fucking days.
“You someplace private, with a door that locks, where no one can hear you?”
“Weston.” Her breathy voice took him by surprise. He thought he’d have to coax her into his proposal, but his name falling from her lips on a slight moan, told him he did not. She was on board.
His hand moved to his cock and he squeezed the base. “Door locked, babe?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone hear you?”
“I’m alone. Travis is on vacation and Rodger went out to get groceries.”
Fuck. Perfect.
“Take off your shirt, sweetheart. Bra, too, if you’re wearing one.”
“I’m not.”
Images of her full tits assaulted him. Dusty pink nipples that puckered at the slightest touch.
Weston waited. He heard fabric rustling, then she was back.
“It’s off.”
“Good, baby. I want you to slowly glide your hand up your belly and circle your nipple.”
Weston's Treasure Page 21